The Need
by KaydenStockwell
Summary: Altair is missing something in his life and he need to find it...  Oneshot


A/N: Takes place a while before the game. Maybe five years. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The shadow of the shell of a man fell across the sandy roads of Jerusalem from high above. The wind whipped his hood back revealing a stoic expression mixed with…something else. His dark eyes gazed lifelessly down on the bustling streets. The citizens roamed the city, unaware that they were being watched. From this height, their conversations were too faint to make out, but he had long surpassed the need to hear them to understand their actions and intentions. The guards patrolled the city, keeping the peace and controlling the people. Foot soldier moved around the streets below, pushing roughly past civilians who dared not retaliate. Archers kept the order from above, ready to converge at the first sign of a disturbance. The setting sun cast long heavy shadows across the rooftops. In the distance, a bell tolled, signaling the curfew soon to come. The streets began to clear and shops were closed down. Three tolls later, the roads were nearly deserted. The only movement discernable in the darkening city was the guards, their numbers now increased. Archers navigated the rooftops and swordsmen traveled through the alleyways in trios. Overhead, an eagle screeched and with that, he jumped.

With a soft _thump_, he landed in the pile of hay. For a moment he just lay there, waiting for the waves of shock to move through his body. None came; he felt nothing. Slowly, he stood up and brushed the straw off of his robes. His boots made nary a sound as he walked through the streets. The man made no attempt to hide himself from the patrols. After a while he passed by a deserted courtyard. He turned and wandered to the middle of the enclosed area and stopped. Beneath the hood, his eyes closed. The desolate man inhaled, willing more than air to fill him up. When his lungs had filled, he held his breath and let the silence of the night envelope him. A _crunch_ behind him splintered the darkness. Other than exhaling, he made no move to hide himself. Whispers told him that there were four guards behind him. More _crunching_ revealed their movements. He knew that he was slowly being surrounded.

His eyes were still closed; he had no plans to open them. A light _twang_ reverberated through the air as an archer pulled his string tight in preparation for its release. When the noise finally ceased, he inhaled the cool night air once more and made a move for a sword that was not there. The archers took his bluff and released the arrow.

As the projectile pierced his shoulder, his breath, unheard through the war cries of the guards, exploded from his lungs. Still, his eyes stayed closed and he willed his hands to stay by his sides. His knees did not resist gravity as the metal blade of a sword forced him down. Another arrow collided with him and lodged in his abdomen. He could see the stream of blood in his mind's eye. Still, he forced his eyes shut; he would not fight back.

The gauntlet clad fist of a soldier crashed into his temple and sent stars bursting through his eyelids. Another guard grabbed his robes and pulled him back to his feet. Before he could gain his balance, the bloodied man was sent sprawling into a nearby wall. His eyes flew open just in time to get his arms up to cushion the impact. He met the ground again and was bragged back to the center of the courtyard by a pair of meaty hands. He made no effort to resist. The lack of spirit in their pray only speared the guards on as they let off their steam.

Through his vision, now blurred, the young man could make out six guards on the ground and five archers positioned on the surrounding roofs. The largest of the foot soldiers motioned to the archers and they took a step back, though their bows were still trained on their prey. He could make out the six on his level placing their blades against the wall. They shed their gauntlets and made a circle around the bleeding figure. The largest, presumably the captain, nodded at one to his left. The soldier smiled crookedly and strutted forward.

He hauled his quarry off of the sandy floor and held him at arm's length. His flitting eyes found the arrow still protruding from the robed man's stomach. Supporting his victim with his left arm, he used his right to grasp the shaft and slowly twist it further into his gut. The man bared his teeth and only a slight grunt escaped his lips. The lack of reaction only spurred the soldier on. He brought his fist straight up and connected with the man's jaw. He staggered back and spit out a tooth. This brought guffaws of laughter from the circle.

His attacker stepped back into the ring and the next foot soldier stepped forward. The one behind him roughly shoved him towards his new opponent. As new hand wrapped around his throat, he saw a flash of white behind the archers. It was gone before he blinked. The soldier increased the pleasure and stars winked in front of the man's eyes. His vision grew red and he felt the darkness spiraling in; then it ended. Air flooded into his lungs as he involuntarily gasped for breath. He was stumbling back to the circle's center when a new face swam into his field of vision.

His abdomen once again exploded in pain as he felt the arrow head being pulled from him. His flesh tore, reluctant to give up the metal. More streams of red flowed from the agitated wound. His hand found the wound and clutched at it, trying to stop the bleeding to no avail. The guard made no pause and continued on with his assault. He broke the shaft off of the arrow and brought the piece to eye level. His target's eyes instinctively closed as he brought the point down through his lip. The tanned flesh split along the right side of his face and wept red. He groaned and the assailant gruffly pushed him towards the guard captain.

The man, weary with pain and blood loss, put his hands out to break his fall. The captain grabbed his shoulders and put him upright. His body, finally beginning to succumb, slacked. The meaty hands were not about to allow this and held him fast. The soldier wheeled him around and shoved him into another's hands. He threw a few punches, but received little response. The pathetic thing was losing consciousness. The thickly built captain approached him, grabbed his shoulders, and brought his knee swiftly into the man's groin. A collective intake of breath was nearly blocked out by the man's grunt. He collapsed to his knees, the pain overwhelming him.

The guards took advantage of this moment of weakness and grabbed their swords from the wall. A few struck out with their booted feet. The sound of snapping could be heard as contact was made. The head guard pushed through his subordinates to deliver his final blow. He brought his sword down into the man's shoulder. The blade came through the other side and the man released a scream. The captain's boot pushed the blood soaked man down and he pulled his blade back through.

"Finish him." The captain replaced his blade and calmly exited, his footsteps echoing in the darkness. It was once again silent as the five remaining foot soldiers bore down on the figure. As they unsheathed their swords, an eagles screach reverberated through Jerusalem. The guards froze, their eyes wide. In their shock, they failed to notice the six white clad figures approaching. They swiftly dispatched of the archers and gained the attention of those on the courtyard floor as five bodies landed with a collective _thump_. The assassins jumped from the rooftops and attacked without mercy. Not a single blade connected with their flesh. The guards were put down in a matter of seconds.

Once the brothers were sure that the area was secure, they converged on their fallen brother. One of the younger ones fell to his knees and began to tend to his comrade. He ripped strips of his own robes to tie off the wounds. There was little he could do, however, for the man's shoulder. "We need to get him back to the bureau. I can't do anything for him here." One of the elder assassins knelt down beside Malik.

"Is that wise? It will be difficult to move him. Perhaps his time has-" Malik cut him off.

"No, he is my brother, and I will not abandon him. Now help me." The others, noting the flash in the young assassin's eyes, obeyed. As they secured the injured man, he began to stir. "Wait, he's waking." He put his hand on his friend's chest, avoiding the numerous injuries. "Altair, can you hear me?" Altair nodded weakly. "I saw the struggle and I am confused. Why, Altair, why did you not fight back?"

"Because," he whispered, "I needed to know that I could still feel."


End file.
